


I'll be here for you, and You'll be here for me

by jamesbuckgaybarnes



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Harm, at the start its graphic and sad and lots of tw stuff, but at the end its all cute and fluffy feelings, tw for self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbuckgaybarnes/pseuds/jamesbuckgaybarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Bucky hates his scars. He just doesn’t like them, doesn’t like looking at them, touching them, thinking about them or really having them. Ok so maybe he hates them but it is not that big of an issue.<br/>In which Bucky really does have a problem with his scars and Steve is there to help.<br/>~<br/>Tw for blood, self harm and depressing thoughts. If any sort of self hate is an issue for you DON'T READ</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be here for you, and You'll be here for me

**Author's Note:**

> OK I have warned that this does have graphic descriptions of blood so I warn you again. Cool. So this is my first published fanfiction so please be gentle with me, But I would still love feedback if you can. i do not own any of the characters, they all belong to Marvel and Disney. I also warn you that this is really bad because I wrote it a 3:00am so sorry about that. If you want to check out my tumblr I am always available to say Hi so don't be shy :)  
> http://jamesbuckgaybarnes.tumblr.com/  
> Hope you enjoy!

It’s not like Bucky hates his scars. He just doesn’t like them, doesn’t like looking at them, touching them, thinking about them or really having them. Ok so maybe he hates them but it is not that big of an issue. If a metal arm is welded to your body, badly, over 70 years ago, you’re bound to have scars. Honestly it’s not that bad, during the day he can cover them up with his shirts and a jacket, and during night he wears a night shirt. It’s when he bathes that it becomes a problem. When he has to run his hand over the coarse pink ridges of marred flesh, every day he does it, and every day he wants to puke, scream, kill, anything to get the pain out. 

He doesn’t normally have such a violent reaction to his scars, In a bath or shower he may puke sometimes or even screams, and when he does Steve is always there, a rock to comfort him and support him. But it’s never that bad. He can spend hours in the tub thinking about everything that’s wrong with him and often does, and it usually ends up with him and Steve in a cocoon of comfort and love, where Stevie whispers sweet nothings into his ears till they both fall asleep wrapped up in each other like a human pretzel  
This is where he is now. In the bottom of his and Steve’s bathtub scratching away at the damn scars that just won’t fucking disappear. They’re there, and they’re hideous and they are a permanent reminder of who he was who he is. He can feel the blood dripping down his back and down his chest, a river of red carving a trail over his body, the warm stickiness to it dripping into the tub, swirling into thin ribbons through the water and dancing around like ballerinas before completely dying the water pink and then red as more and more blood drip into the what was once clean bath water. He can feel the salty tears cascade silently down his face into the tub where all three fluids mix together in a chaos of hate and pain. How could Steve possibly love him? He’s a broken man with no hope in the future, he will never be right again and will always have vivid nightmare that leave him screaming bloodcurdling into the night, tears pouring out of his eyes and when Steve wakes him, he is out of it, thinking he is being attacked and struggles and screams and he hates it. He hates it hates it hates it hates it. He hates how much he is a burden to Steve and he hates how he’s so fucking broken. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, crying and scratching and bleeding, but as the world goes round and moves forwards, he’s stuck in the past and present. 

This is how Steve finds him, curled up in a ball the blood coagulated on his shoulder and the stagnant water red of blood sticking to his skin. Steve being the ever wonderful boyfriend he is doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him like an he’s an injured dog, doesn’t look angry he just looks at him like he always does- completely and utterly in love with Bucky. Steve scoops him up and cradles him onto the plush bed. He lays Bucky down, wraps a towel around him then gets a first aid kit from the corner of their room. They sit for 20 minutes, Steve carefully tending to Bucky’s deep wounds, cleaning and stitching them with the professionality of a tailor and the care of a doctor, occasionally Steve laying a tender kiss to Bucky’s injured shoulder whilst looking up to his icy blue eyes that where red from crying yet still had tears that threatened to spill over. Once Steve had cared to the wounds, he bundled Bucky up in warm clean pajamas and then curled them both up underneath the sheets of the bed. Steve cradled Bucky in his arms, resting his head upon the traumatized man beneath him. There were many reasons that Bucky loved Steve, but one of the more prominent ones was the fact that no matter what happened, Steve would never say anything, would never prompt Bucky to talk about it, he just lay there providing a silent comfort to Bucky that he was there and that was all that Bucky needed for now, the two men lay there tangled up into each other their breathing settling into a synchronized rhythm of calmness, Bucky’s breath occasionally hitching, yet as he calmed down he nuzzled further into Steve’s neck inhaling everything Steve, the familiar scent of artists paper and pencils, the body wash that he used that smells of citrus and sandalwood, that herbal tea that he likes so much and drinks every morning to wake himself up, and the scent that he has come to recognize as his own, mixing into Steve’s permanent smell and he can’t help but preen a little at that. It’s so distinctively Steve that Bucky feels so calm and his previous episode in the bath is almost long forgotten. Just as the two World War 2 veterans where drifting off into a slumber Steve let out a gentle murmur  
“Hey Buck, we should get a Dog, a cute puppy to run around and steal Tony’s things, or to play fetch with Clint.” Bucky smiled slightly and thought to himself that yeah, a dog would be nice around here, the avengers could certainly do with a hug buddy.  
“Yeah, let’s get a dog Stevie” and as the two lay there they were frozen in time, where everything was perfect. Although everything else about their lives wasn’t. Bucky would always have his nightmares, and Steve would always wake up ice cold as if he was still on the plane. There were things neither of them could ever do and that was ok, because they were broken, but they could be broken together. After all they can face everything tomorrow.


End file.
